Fix You
by phosphone
Summary: Sherlock's bored. He can't play with Moriarty anymore and John's abandoned him for his new 'family.' They haven't spoken in years. Instead Sherlock turns to his only friend, liquor. But when fate leads Sherlock back to John's doorstep what will happen next? Certainly nothing good. :)
1. the only hope for me is you

"Goodnight," John whispered as he leaned down to kiss his son on the cheek. He slowly backed out of the room and his feet padded lightly on the carpet floor as he walked down the hallway. Everyone seemed to be sleep - including Mary and he didn't want to wake her. He slid open the screen door and climbed the stairs to the roof.

He walked to the edge and placed both hands on the white rail fencing him in. It was beautiful. The stars glittered against the inky night as the crescent moon illuminated the streets of England down below. The street was nearly void of pedestrians yet the pub across the street seemed full of life. Even from the roof of his house he could hear the live music blaring from inside _Boar's Head._

John stared longingly. He liked to sit inside in the corners of the room and reminisce. Back when Sherlock was still around it was tradition for John to buy drinks for the both of them after a successful case. If the case wasn't successful they would go anyway. The only difference was that Sherlock had to buy the drinks. They never lost a case. John smiled lightly to himself at the thought. Mary didn't know, but that was why John had been so insistent on moving to such a noisy street. He wanted to be able to remember Sherlock.

John turned to grab a beer from the cooler they always kept up there. When he glanced down again two shadowy figures gripped each other tightly and stumbled pass the window.

He glanced down again. Two shadowy figures gripped each other and stumbled pass the window. One was short, stocky, and built, while the other tall, and slender. The tall man reared his fist back recklessly and hit the other man's face. Through the open windows John could hear a few cheers along with the sound of glasses shattering. Not much later the tall, slender man stumbled out of the doorway drunkenly.

John inhaled sharply. _He was beautiful._ John could see how thin the man was as his translucent white shirt clung against his pale skin highlighting his slight muscular build. His knuckles where white from gripping his black coat and navy scarf so tightly. He held them close as though they were the only possessions he owned. His curly brown hair clung in a halo around his pale face and his watery blue eyes darted backing forth as if searching for something.

John chuckled bitterly in spite of himself. _You won't find a taxi on the streets at this hour Sherlock. You were always lacking in street smarts._

At a closer look John could see that the mans face was caked with blood from the fight and his lip was busted. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness rose in his throat. He wanted to run into the pub and murder the man that hurt Sherlock because the man that hurt Sherlock was the man that hurt him. An inexplicable tie that John could never seen to shake. And believe him, he tried. Because after Sherlock there was nothing. After Sherlock left John drowned himself in other faces praying he could forget the feelings Sherlock made him feel. He entered a new scene - less casual, more dangerous. Smoking, drinking, drugs, pubs, fist fights, late nights, deeper, deeper, deeper, darkness. John was broken. He didn't want to see or hear or feel or know or live. But he didn't want it bad enough or he was too scared or he felt to much because the pills just sat on his counter and the noose he once tied just hung by the door. And every morning when John woke up he looked to his right to turn his alarm off and those watery blue eyes stared back. A picture. A piece of paper with blood and bones made out of ink and sometimes it wasn't quite good enough for John and other times it was too much. Today it had been to much.

The man took a few drunken steps toward the lamppost and he leaned his sagging body on it. A bottle from the pub slipped through his fingers and shattered on the ground. He stood like that for a while as if waiting for something he knew would never come. John noticed that his fingers had begun to tremble and his watery blue eyes darted back and forth. Then his thin frame collapsed to the ground.

John took a sharp breath, quickly spinning around and rushing toward the stairs. _Please be okay please be okay please be okay._ It couldn't end like this. _Goddamit please just let him be okay_. He grabbed his cane at the door and rushed outside.

"Sherlock!" He called hurrying across the street.

Sherlock didn't respond.

" _Dammit_ " John muttered under his breath.

He kneeled on the side walk and lifted Sherlock's wrist to check for a pulse. Nothing. Then he tried his neck. Still nothing. John sat still for a moment. Then he reached over Sherlock's body for his coat. After draping the coat over Sherlock's shoulders and tying the scarf around his neck, John scooped Sherlock up into his arms. Careful not to drop him, John limped carefully back across the street and into his house leaving his cane behind him.

John tapped his foot anxiously. He wanted Sherlock to wake up. It had been four hours since he finished pumping his stomach, but he was worried it was too late. John snorted. He had _wanted._ But when had he ever gotten anything he wanted form Sherlock?

He stood up and walked out onto the balcony, pecking Sherlock on the cheek on his way out. He wondered if Sherlock ever woke up how long he would stay. It didn't matter though because Sherlock always left. No quantifiable amount of time with Sherlock could ever be enough for John. If it was up to Sherlock, he probably wouldn't even be in this house. He'd be off in some exotic country solving his latest crime. A workaholic.

What if he woke up and left? What if he woke up and John wasn't there to see him? As John turned and ran back inside the house, fear closing in his throat, and blood pounding in his ears. _Please don't be gone_ he pleaded hopelessly.

Sherlock was legs crossed on the couch. He had found an old violin from somewhere hidden deep inside the room and he was poised to play. His eyes were closed. He seemed stint today, or maybe that was just John's imagination considering he hadn't seen Sherlock in 9 years..

John exhaled a quiet sigh in relief. "You're awake."

Sherlock dropped the violin into his lap and glared at John. His face softened when he saw who it was. "It's rude to interrupt people you know."

"My house, my rules," John retorted. "Besides I just saved your life."

Sherlock leaned back and uncrossed his legs, observing John. Sherlock had forgotten how cheeky John could get.

"I don't need saving." Sherlock responded.

"That's not what your drunken corpse told me yesterday," John said as he moved to sit down across from Sherlock. "You passed out. I thought you were going to die."

"You don't have to worry about me," Sherlock smiled sadly. "It's been 9 years anyway."

John started to say something but then stopped himself. He stood up abruptly striding over to the door. "Do you want any coffee?" He asked over his shoulder as he was halfway out the door.

Sherlock watched as John walked out the door. How could he just…. leave like that? They were in the middle of a conversation. Besides John was supposed to say time didn't matter, that time would never matter when it came to loving Sherlock. But instead he just…left. Sherlock got up and followed John to the kitchen.

"So," John said as he carried a steaming cup of coffee over to Sherlock. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

Sherlock stared down at the coffee John had given him.

"A conversation requires two people Sherlock," John reminded him.

Sherlock glared up at John with bloodshot eyes. "I've been fine."

John raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Okay well I've had a few drinks here and there. It's not really a big deal."

John snorted. You would think after someone saved a persons life that person would at least be honest with them. But then again, this was Sherlock.

"Don't tell me then," John muttered. "How'd you end up across the street?"

"I was in town. I though I could remember you." Sherlock reached for a spoon to stir his coffee and smirked. "It worked better than expected."

"Bloody right it did." John muttered.

Sherlock sat up. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"No, no, of course it's a good thing," John apologized. "It's just that I have a wife now-"

"And two kids. Of course." Sherlock said shortly.

"How'd you know?"

"Two rooms, one pink one blue, in addition to the generic boy and girls toys scattered under your living room table. Even _you_ could have gotten that one John." Sherlock smiled as he stood up and walked to the door. "Maybe I should just go."

"Maybe." John said before he could stop himself. He stood frozen across the room watching Sherlocks face turn from sadness to anger. _Stupid. You're letting him get away_ John thought immediately after he had spoken.

"John-" Sherlocks face softened. "I came here for a reason to stay."

A lump rose in Johns throat as he walked slowly over to Sherlock. Sure, Sherlock was taller, but their faces were so close that John could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"I think… you should go. Goodbye Sherlock." He whispered as he held the door open.

Sherlock breathed in. "I see." He turned and walked down the concrete steps slowly. But in that moment his thoughts turned to Moriarty. Moriarty had been right, even at Sherlocks worst time John still refused to save him.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary woke up and turned her alarm off exactly .24 seconds before her 4 A.M. alarm went off. She slipped both feet into her slippers and walked to slide the balcony glass doors open. Though she took notice of Johns absence she didn't acknowledge it. She assumed John was sleeping on the couch; he always did that when he wanted to be alone.

She splashed her face with water a couple times and then looked up at her reflection in the mirror. She missed having long blonde hair to braid back over one shoulder. She missed not having to wear contacts - and the compliments she always received on her glowing emerald green eyes. She missed not having to force smiles. Mary missed her own name.

She splashed her face with water one more time. To dwell on such trivial things, especially ones she couldn't change was a complete waste of time. After all she was already three minutes behind schedule.

Later as she stepped out of the shower, drying her hair with a towel she heard a disco music blaring from her phone. Mary broke into a sprint, summersaulted over the bed, and grabbed the phone before it could finish the second ring.

"Hello?" She answered in her most polite voice.

"No need to be polite dear. I know how you're really feeling," The voice on the other end said. "I need you at the warehouse at 4:45.

Mary frowned. "But sir-"

"But nothing. Be here in less than fifteen minutes," The voice commanded on the other end of the phone.

Mary's face hardened. "Yes, sir," She said shortly before turning her phone off.

She walked into the closet and pushed back all the clothes to reveal a black leather jumpsuit hanging in the back. She slipped her legs in and zipped the suit up in the front. Mary turned around examining herself in the mirror. She might need to lose a little weight around the legs and waist.

Mary returned to the closet searching for her gloves and boots. She already knew her jacket was hanging outside. She slapped her gloves on and laced up her black combat boots. Then she flipped on the hood of her jacket and strode out the door.

As she walked out she passed John's office and saw his body sprawled over the old Afghan blanket drool dribbling down the side of his face. Her steps faltered. The last time John slept without her… well it had been years. She assumed he would be here but she half hoped he wouldn't. Mary just wanted John to trust her. But a part of her knew that all of John would never truly be hers. A part of Mary was always with her job, and a part of John always with Sherlock. Despite this, it still hurt when John proposed 6 months after Sherlock left him. It didn't feel real. John's desperation seeped through his essence but her love for him compelled her to say yes.

She slipped of her boots and padded quietly over to John sitting beside him. Mary caressed his face lovingly, hoping to _god_ what Moriarty wanted wouldn't hurt John. She got back up again grabbing a pistol from the drawer. After she put both shoes on she slipped it into her right boot. She raided more of her hiding places for a few weapons in case Moriarty tried to pull any tricks and left. Mary stepped out on the doorstep and froze breathing in the city air. And then she was gone.

Mary parked her care in the driveway of an abandoned warehouse not 5 minutes from her house. When she reached the door she knocked three times. When she didn't receive an answer she searched around in case Moriarty had hidden the key as a test. After a good 15 minutes Mary tried looking under the rug. The key glistened in the moonlight. _I can't believe that dickface hid it under a motherfucking rug._

Mary let herself in. Despite the building's outward appearances, the inside was gorgeous. She took her boots off carefully placing next to the welcome mat, dropping the key on a hook by the door. She could hear someone, possibly Moriarty playing Chopin upstairs. When she was almost certain no one else was downstairs she walked into the room on her right. Giant mahogany book shelves rose almost 12 feet, books lining the walls at every corner.

She circled the room eyeing the books. They were categorized alphabetically within each topic. Moriarty had everything to a simple Dr. Seuss children's book to Freud's flawless guide to murder. When she had made her way all the way around the room she returned to an enormous foyer. a 72" flat screen tv sat lazily on the wall above a just-lit crackling fireplace. _Someone was here_.

Mary ignored the signs and walked into the next room over. The kitchen… it was every woman's dream. Granite countertops, 10 stove burners, and two ovens stacked on top of each other featuring 5 racks each, Not to mention it had plenty of space, an island in the middle, and it was connected to the dining room.

She left the kitchen to examine the gorgeous chandelier hanging from the maroon ceiling. As she passed a spiral stairs and an entry leading back to the foyer. _Wow._ Mary thought. _Each time he called her to a new place, and each time she answered obediently like a slave._ She found that with each passing mission the abandoned warehouses, and crumbling restaurants got more and more elegant but it _had_ been a while since her last mission.

"Do you like what I've done with the place, Mary?" A high nasally voice echoed throughout the room. Without turning around Mary knew it was him. She could hear it in the slight pitter patter of his best leather shoes as he sauntered down the stairs.

"You're supposed to be dead." Mary spat. "Why'd you call me now?"

The voice snickered. "You really thought I was dead, did you. Then again, Sherlock did too, I suppose.  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mary retorted, "I'm a Level II assassin, one of the highest levels possible for a woman. I'm just as capable as that son of a bitch."

"Ahhhh," He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Pent up rage for your husbands secret lover."

Mary gritted her teeth. "He's _not_ John's secret lover. He left years ago and hasn't returned."

The man grinned and stood up. We walked slowly to the other side of the room and opened a drawer. He pulled out a manilla folder and walked back towards Mary. "Thats not what security footage from _Boar's Head_ told me last night.

"I-" Mary stuttered. "I don't understand. Sherlock hasn't been seen for years."

"Correction. Since yesterday."

"But how?" She inquired.

"I'm Moriarty. I see everything."

"Fine." Mary crossed her legs. "Then why am I here?"

Moriarty beckoned Mary to the kitchen. He was a polished man. A nice black suit cloaked his tall thin frame and his gold rolex ticked away on his wrist. His black hair was slicked back, and his face was slightly more than flat, as if someone had pushed it in. His eyes were always darting back and forth, almost unnoticeable, noticing everything. He pulled out two mugs from the mahogany cupboard and filled them both with coffee.

Turning back to Mary he held one of the cups out and asked, "Have a cup?"

"No thanks, I ate breakfast already," she lied. "And I don't want anything _you've_ touched. It's probably poisoned." She added after some consideration.

He cackled. "Fair enough, but do keep in mind I could have you dead in a heartbeat. Take the cup."

She pretended to take a sip. "I still don't know why I'm here."

"Well you see-" He started as he walked to sit at the bar. "Sit." He motioned for Mary to sit in the seat next to him. "I brought you here because of Sherlock."

 _Dear God if I must kill him take me first._ She prayed. "It always seems to be him doesn't it." She tried to appear nonchalant.

"Of course! There's not too many out there like us you know Mary. The others, they don't see the world the same way we do. You and me, we're ruthless businessmen who get the job done. But when things get boring we need to find something else! That's why I have Sherlock. But that'll end soon enough." He grinned widely.

"I don't understand," she said attempting to keep a straight face. _Don't let him see the sadness. They can never know._ "Why now? He can't do anything to you. He seems to have become an alcoholic. Why not let him alone?"

"Mary, Mary," he chuckled. "That's exactly the problem, don't you see? He didn't figure it out. He just sits there in his own sad little drunk world. Too infatuated with John I suppose but now it's time to wake him up Mary! Awaken the sleeping little beast."

She ignored his comment about John. Instead she directed another question at him. "If I kill him… what do you gain? He'll be dead, and from what you've said it sounds like you want him alive."

Moriarty stood up and strode over to the window. "You just don't get it do you. You're not _actually_ going to kill him. No, no, he's too smart fro you, you'll get yourself killed. Besides John would probably come to his aid one last time." He turned to grin widely at her oblivious to Mary's wounded pride. "Now, any more questions? You've got to get going, I can't wait around with you much longer."

"Yes, sir." Mary nodded tightly swallowing the lump in her throat. "I understand."

"Good soldier!" He laughed, taunting her.

Mary snorted in disgust.

He crossed the room in two strides so that he towered over her. "I'll ignore that _this_ time. Even if you are the perfect person, a trained killer, I can still kill _you_. You're replaceable. Now get out while you have the chance. And don't let me see you again until your mission is complete.

Mary nodded tightly, turning towards the door. She ignored his laughs and set her cup in the dish washer. When she turned again Moriarty was gone so she let herself out. It was as if no time had passed. She waited on the doorstep for a moment and stared at the trees. The wind felt nice in her hair.

But she didn't have time to enjoy such petty things like the weather. She had a mission to complete.

"Forget Sherlock. He's just prey." She whispered to herself as she walked to her car. _He's just prey. Not human, just prey, just prey, just prey._ She chanted to herself in her head as he got into her car and drove away.


End file.
